


Retrograde

by Rattlesnake_Smile



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Bittersweet, Born human!Peter, Canon Compliant, Child Murder, Fluff, Last Chapter is the Happiest Chapter, M/M, Murder, Pre-Canon, Secret Relationship, Several Alternate Endings, Suicide, This is seriously dark people, alternate endings, happy endings, sad endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:45:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4763804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rattlesnake_Smile/pseuds/Rattlesnake_Smile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Peter had been born human?  What if, when such a thing happens in the Hale family, that member can chose to take the Bite at eighteen?  What if Peter changed his mind?  What if Talia found out why?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Claire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Tumbleweed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543319) by [Claire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire). 



> This is a serious dark fic, even for me. I was inspired while reading chapter 35 of Claire's Tumbleweed, and because I was in a dark place, my mind made this. Please pay attention to the tags to avoid any kind of trigger and if you make it through this, please see the bottom for more notes.

Not all werewolves are born.

Yes, the born to bitten ratio is a bit one-sided, especially when you factor in the risk of accepting the Bite. Not everyone survived such a gift, even if some didn't see it as such. Some saw it as a curse, but those were usually the ones that had the Bite forced upon them. That was a big no-no in the werewolf community - forcing the Bite upon an unwilling participant, usually met with some kind of retribution by the more law-abiding packs. Either that or they let the Hunters come in and clean up the mess for them.

There was a nice symbiotic relationship - the werewolves and the hunters - but we'll get into that later.

Anyway, back to the point. Not all werewolves are born as such. Even in werewolf families. In Europe, families offer the Bite to their children when they hit puberty, so that they can go through both the Change as well as the changes of adolescence all at the same time. It's twice as much work for a few years, but in the end, the newly Bitten are better off, usually in more control of their beastly nature than most Bitten werewolves. Some of the American families followed the European traditions, while others were a bit more savage, abandoning those born into their family without the Gift.

Barbaric, but the truth.

The Hale family wasn't like that. They were the dominant werewolf pack of Northern California, centered around the town of Beacon Hills - a supernatural hotspot. One where the local pack looked out for their neighbors, their friends and family.

The Hale Pack had a tradition regarding those born into their family without the Gift as well. The Bite was offered, but because this was America, they had to wait until their eighteenth birthday. It had been that way for the past half a century, ever since the Age of Consent was agreed upon by the government.

Peter Hale was such a person.

Born into a large family of werewolves but lacking the Gift himself. Oh, and how he hated it. He was envious in the extreme. He lusted for the powers, the privelage, that his older sister and cousins had. His nieces and nephew. Family that were younger than him yet able to lift so much more (bruising to a growing young man's ego), to run faster, to hear and smell more, to heal at incredible rates.

They were his family and, yes, he loved them, but oh, how he hated them.

When he was younger he didn't understand why he couldn't do the things his cousins did. How come when he jumped off the porch roof, he broke his leg? Why wouldn't he heal like his cousins?

He learned to hide his jealousy as he got older, though it was still there. His sister had a daughter, Laura, and she was born with the Gift. It hurt, but she was so precious and Peter was going to be the best uncle he could possibly be.

It got easier when he was a teenager and he discovered sex. He was charming and charismatic and never short of a supply of willing bedmates, something he could finally lord over his cousins who couldn't control their hormones and their Change enough to have any kind of sexual contact. Oh, how he teased and taunted them, which usually ended in the older wolves having to pull their children off of each other, but it was worth it. Peter finally had the upper hand in something and he wasn't about to let them forget it.

Then his mother - their Alpha - died. It had been coming for a while, old age wears down even werewolves. Talia had inherited the mantle and she led the Pack, striving to be as great an Alpha as her and Peter's mother. Peter was sixteen when it happened, only two years away from being able to accept the Bite, something he planned on demanding the moment the clock struck midnight.

But, we're getting sidetracked. After the death of his mother, like most teenagers would do in this situation, Peter acted out. Alcohol and drugs, nothing major, but enough to involve the police once or twice and get him suspended from the basketball team. It was at this time, a few weeks short of his seventeenth birthday that he was half-drunk out in the Reserve, wandering close to where he knew that old tree stump the Druids worshipped was, bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand.

That was the night he met Chris Argent.

 

\- ONE YEAR LATER -

 

Peter slipped quietly from the house, something he'd had years of practice with, using the old tunnels beneath the house to come out an old storm drain a good distance away from the Hale Manor. For weeks he'd been doing this, almost nightly, easily slipping out after his "curfew", right under his sister's nose. He had to admit, the extra thrill of rule-breaking made what he was doing all the more exciting, not that what he was doing wasn't elicit and compelling all its own.

Quiet as was humanly possible, Peter slipped through the trees, his leather jacket - a staple of the Hale family - zipped up tight against the chill in the air.

Eventually Peter made it to his destination, coming out of the edge of the Preserve to find Chris' truck waiting for him on the shoulder of the road, the young Argent leaning against the side, in his own leather jacket, which really brought out his fair skin and pale blond hair, casually smoking a cigarette. A devious grin split Peter's face as he allowed himself to melt back into the shadows, circling around the long way, slipping silently through the trees thanks to the few tricks that Chris had taught him. Patient and crafty, Peter approached, ready to jump out of the shadows and at least get some kind of reaction from the stoic hunter. He was hoping for a girly scream, but he'd settle for a manly gasp.

As he watched, Chris took another drag of the cigarette before blowing out an artful stream of smoke. Just as Peter was crouching down, ready to spring forth more like a cat than the wolves he'd been raised among, those piercing ice blue eyes pinned him still. Wordlessly, Chris held out the cigarette, offering it to Peter.

Sighing, Peter slipped from his hiding spot and walked out across the empty street.

"How do you always know?" He asked as he reached Chris, taking the offered cigarette and taking a drag.

"Years and years of training." Chris replied with a cheeky smile, something he'd learned from Peter.

"You make it sound like you're some old combat vet from back in the day." Peter dismissed with a wave of his hand, flicking the cigarette away as he did so. "You're a year older than me."

"A year and three months." The blond wiggled his eyebrows.

"Yeah, you're ancient." Peter said sarcastically while he rolled his eyes, moving in closer to Chris, barely a foot of space between them.

"Just a rich, old geriatric." Chris agreed. "And you're the gold digger after my riches."

"Yeah, that's it." Peter nodded. "I'm just after you for your money." Chris smiled before closing the distance between the two of them, their lips meeting in the faint silver light of the moon. It was a nice kiss, slow and sensuous, not the rushed and hurried ones they usually had to settle for as they tried to fit in their meetings away from prying eyes.

And speaking of prying eyes...

 

-oOo-

 

Laura raced toward the Hale Manor, her bare feet sliding across the forest floor, barely touching the fallen leaves.

She knew she shouldn't have followed Peter when she saw him sneaking out and she knew her mother would be mad, but she knew her uncle had been hiding something. She _knew_! And this was something her mother, her _Alpha_ , needed to know.

In record time, she was through the front door, up the stairs and bursting through the door to her parents' bedroom, both of them bolting up, thinking something was happening. Talia's eyes glowed, her senses reaching out to discern the threat to her pack and her family. When she found no such threat, her eyes faded from red to brown, though still angry and now focused on Laura, who was curled up into her father's powerful chest.

"Laura, what's the meaning of this?" Talia didn't have to raise her voice, but still got the point across that she was aggravated.

"Mommy," Laura hadn't called her that since she was six or seven. Now, at the age of twelve, she used the term Mother to to sound more grown-up. "I saw something..."

 

-oOo-

 

They were waiting for him when he finally arrived home, his hair still wet from the shower he'd taken to wash away Chris' scent. Andrew, his brother-in-law sat at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee sitting in front of him, clasped between his large hands, while Talia leaned against the counter, one arm folded under her breasts and the other with a lit cigarette between two fingers.

Peter froze in the entrance to the kitchen, his leather jacket slung over his arm, looking from Andrew's slightly sympathetic yet still dark eyes to his sister's unyeilding, steely gaze.

"What's going on?" Peter asked, keeping his voice calm and his heartbeat steady, like he'd taught himself (it was tough growing up in a house where people knew when you were lying, but Peter had persevered. He could now lie like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth). Talia said nothing, just took another drag of the cigarette before blowing out a long stream of smoke.

"Peter, your sister and I..." Andrew started to say.

"We know you're fucking the Argent boy." Talia interrupted, keeping her eyes locked on her younger brother.

 _Shit_! Peter couldn't stop the tiny flutter of his heartbeat with that sudden admission. But how? How did they know? It was then he saw movement at the other entrance to the kitchen, and saw Laura half hiding behind the doorway, her feet muddy from where she'd run outside recently without shoes. Then it all clicked into place; the way Chris had pulled away from kissing him to stare out into the darkness, swearing he'd seen something move among the bushes. It had been Laura spying on him. Spying on them.

 _Shit_!

"Talia, don't get ma--"

"Do you have any idea of the risk you're taking?" Talia snapped, not giving Peter a chance to explain. There was nothing he could do or say that would make this any less than the betrayal of the pack that it was. "Or the danger you're putting this pack in?"

"T," Peter tried to use his old childhood nickname for his big sister, but to no avail.

"Is this why you've suddenly decided against taking the Bite?" She asked, angrily stubbing her cigarette in the ashtray on the counter before storming forward, directly toward Peter, who held his ground. "You want to remain human for them? The _Argents_?" She didn't even try to diguise the disgust in her voice as she spat their name.

"No, not for them." Peter snapped back, holding his ground and even stepping forward. He may not be a born wolf, but he grew up in a house full of them, so he knew how to go toe-to-toe with them.

"Then who?" Talia demanded. "For him? You would turn your back on your family for a pretty piece of ass? Or is it because you know that the eldest son of the Argents wouldn't give you the time of day if you had claws and fangs." Peter flinched from those words. "Or are you planning on joining them? Hmm? Finally putting all that resentment you've been hiding since you were a child to a creative use?" She weilded scorn like a weapon, her voice slicing through the air like a whip.

"It's not like that... " Peter tried to say.

"What's it like then, Peter?" She snarled. "Love? Don't make me laugh!"

As their argument rose in volume, both were so engrossed that they didn't realize that they were waking some of their family, cousins and nieces and nephews sticking their heads out of doorways or leaning over banisters to see what was going on.

"And what if it is?" Peter snarked back defensively, crossing his arms.

"Don't be so naive!" Talia practically yelled. "Don't be so pathetic. He's using you!"

"That's not true!" Peter yelled back, and now the whole house was awake, watching the argument like it was an imminent pile-up on the highway - you didn't want to look, but you couldn't look away. "We have plans. The moment I'm eighteen we're out of here, somewhere where there aren't any werewolves or hunters. Where we can just be Chris and Peter."

"He's an Argent!" Talia roared, her eyes flaring red. "I didn't realize you were so stupid as to believe one of them. Just because you're spreading your legs for him and he's whispering empty lies into your ear doesn't change who he is. The only thing he and his family want is the total extermination of our kind."

"That's not true." Peter repeated, lowering his voice and remaining steady. "He loves me and I love him, and if you can't accept that, then I'll leave now." With those words, Peter turned his back on his sister and moved toward the stairs, ready right then to go and collect his things and leave. The moment he turned from her, Talia saw red.

What happened next was a blur, even to the other werewolves. All that anyone is able to discern is an alpha's growl, Peter's started cry and the smell of fresh blood.

When Talia stepped back, she found herself looking upon Peter - her baby brother - looking at her with such hurt and betrayal in those pretty baby blues. He cradled his arm to his chest, blood dripping from the bite wound on his forearm, fear finally seeping into his eyes. And that was an emotion she'd never thought she'd see Peter have, let alone fear of his own sister.

A part of her - a very small part - knew that she should apologize for what she'd just done. It was part of their Pack's code. The Bite was a gift, never to be forced on anyone. That was the werewolf equivilant of rape. But the rest of her was the Alpha, and she would do what she had to do to keep her pack and her family safe.

She spat his blood onto the clean tile of the kitchen floor, as if the taste of his betrayal was even there and she couldn't stomach it. Talia sneered, the blazing red of her eyes matching the smear of her brother's blood across her mouth.

Tears welled in Peter's eyes as he stumbled back from his sister and out of the kitchen, pushing through the concerned cousins that had come downstairs to hopefully prevent the argument from escalating any further. He shrank back from their touch and was at the front door in a flash, opening it with his uninjured hand.

"Let's see if he wants you now!" Talia called after him as he ran off into the darkened Reserve.

 

-oOo-

 

It was a painful breakup, if it could even be considered as such. No one really knew they were together, with obvious exceptions now, but it was still painful, even if it was one-sided. Peter had met Chris at the gas station at the edge of town a few weeks after the Incident. They'd gone to a diner for dinner, and were talking about Peter's upcoming birthday and their plans to get the hell out of Beacon Hills. Maybe hit a big city like San Fransisco or Seattle, something busy but not like the hectic energy of Los Angeles or New York City.

Peter's inner turmoil was unknown to Chris, who was still oblivious to what had happened weeks earlier.

"Do you want anything in particular?" Chris asked as he opened the driver's side door to his truck, heading into the gas station to pay for the gas and pick up some junk food.

"Whatever's good." Peter smiled.

"Bacon-jerky it is." Chris announced, laughing at Peter's wrinkled nose before he leaned over and kissed him. Peter melted into the kiss, deepening it easily and moving one hand up to glide across the faint stubble on Chris' face. After a moment or two, Chris finally pulled back, having a strong urge to breath. "What was that for?"

"No reason." Peter answered.

"I'll be right back." Chris said, leaning in to steal one more kiss before exiting the vehicle.

"I'll be here." Peter lied. He watched as Chris entered the building and once he was positive he was occupied, Peter pulled the letter out of his jacket pocket and placed it on the dash before opening his own door and stepping out...

A few minutes later, Chris approached the car, a bag of goodies in his hand.

"I got you those gummy worms you like so much." Chris said as he opened the driver's side door, freezing when he saw the empty cab of the truck and Peter's door hanging wide open. "Peter!" He called out, throwing the bag of junk food onto the seat before backing up to look around, thinking Peter was playing some sort of prank on him. "Is this some new game you want to play?" When he received no response except for the lingering silence, his expression grew a bit more concerned.

"Peter!"

Again, he got no response. It was at this point that Chris saw the letter sitting on the dash, Peter's elegant script spelling his name on the front. Curious, Chris climbed up into his car and opened the letter, leaving his door open so he had light to read by. Quickly, he read through the letter, his blue eyes getting wider and wider with each passing line. By the time he'd reached the end, the letter was tossed into the passenger seat and he was reaching under the passenger seat, hoping against all hope that Peter hadn't taken it. When he discovered that it wasn't where he left it, he was already revving the engine, roaring out of the parking lot and through a red light, racing to get to the preserve.

 

-oOo-

 

Talia sat with her family all curled up on the couch, watching a Disney movie on the televison. Talia herself was pressed up against her husband on one end of the couch, while Laura was on the other end, some teenage gossip magazine in her hands. She may have liked to have pretend that she wasn't ineterested, but Talia saw the way her eldest daughter's eyes kept flitting away from the page to watch the screen, eager to see Ariel get her Prince, even though she alredy knew how it ended.

Seven year old Derek was laying on his stomach, engrossed with the movie, his chin propped up on his hands and his feet kicking in the air. Things had been quiet in the Hale house for the past few weeks, ever since that night where she'd bitten Peter. After she'd cooled down and let the anger go, she'd felt horrible, guilt gnawing at her, but at the same time, she was glad she'd made her point. Her job, as Alpha, was to protect her pack, even from themselves.

"Sounds like Peter's home." Andrew said softly, his head turned toward the window where he'd heard tires crunch on the gravel of their driveway. He'd been her rock during this troubling time in her family, her anchor. She turned her head with his and used her enhanced senses, immediatly picking up that the vehicle wasn't Peter's Camero. Frowning, Talia quickly got up and moved around the couch, approaching the front door as she heard whoever the driver was hop out of his vehicle - leaving it running - and bounding up the porch steps to start pounding on the front door.

"Peter!" The voice - a male voice - called, pounding even harder on the door. Talia wrenched open the door and Chris Argent nearly fell into her lap.

"You have a lot of nerve coming her--" Talia started to say, her face an angry mask.

"Is Peter here?" Chris interrupted her, his blue eyes wide and panicked. "Please tell me he's here?"

"Maybe he doesn't want to see you." Talia crossed her arms stubbornly, refusing to give ground to this young man - this _boy_ , who would sully her baby brother.

"Look, I get that you're pissed at me for whatever imagined diabolical plan I'm sure you've cooked up, but I don't have time for this." Chris snapped. "If Peter's not here, tell me where he is!"

"Why should I?"

"I know what happened." The silence that followed that statement was thunderous, her husband and children no longer paying attention to the movie. "And I don't care that he's a werewolf. I love him and I need to find him."

"If he told you what happened, then --"

"He didn't tell me what happened." Chris interrupted again. "He left me a letter." He held up the letter that he'd read mere minutes ago. "That's why I need to find him."

"Why?" Talia asked, a sense of dread filling her stomach.

"This is a goodbye letter and my gun is missing from my car." Chris' face was serious, his heartbeat frantic, pulsing with worry. Talia knew her eyes widened at that statement, her mind immediatly flying through every possible scenario that could come out of this. This wasn't what she'd wanted when she Bit him.

"Andrew!" She called out.

"I'll watch the kids." Her husband assured her, there by her side as if by magic. "Go save your brother." She was already grabbing her jacket from the coat rack and flying out the door, Chris hot on her heels.

"Where would he go?" Chris asked as they climbed into the truck, which was in motion before the doors had even closed.

"To a sacred place." Talia answered. "Just follow my directions."

 

-oOo-

 

Peter leaned back against the weathered old roots of the Nemeton, the hacked off stump the only thing left of what was once an oak tree of colossal size. He'd taken off his jacket and lay it on the ground, sitting there, huddled in on himself in just jeans and a henley. The gun was naked and bright on the dirt beside him. With each passing day he'd felt the pull of the wolf getting stronger and stronger and he didn't want to be that. He wanted to be with Chris and have his happily ever after.

But apparently that wasn't in the cards. At least, not to Peter's mind. He reached down and wrapped his fingers around the gun, handling it the way Chris had showed him three months ago when he'd taken him to the gun range.

He was always amazed by how heavy a gun was, especially because it looked so light, so easy to use. A myth that television and movies helped to perpetuate. He checked the clip and pulled back the hammer, loading a round...

 

-oOo-

 

"Fuck!" Chris shouted as the headlights of his truck illuminated the fallen tree in their path. He hit his steering wheel in frustration.

"Just pull over." Talia instructed. "The Nemeton's just up over that hill and past those trees." Before she'd even opened her door, Chris was out of the truck and leaping over the fallen tree, racing in the direction she'd pointed out. The Alpha was hot on his heels, praying in her head over and over to whatever diety would listen that they made it in time. She was so sorry. She'd never wanted to hurt Peter. She'd never forgive herself if they didn't make it.

There it was!

The Nemeton! The ancient tree stump where Druid emissaries gathered their herbs and performed their sacrifices. The mystical battery from which they drew their power. She could just make out Peter's dark head over the edge of the stump and the glint of something metallic.

Talia drew in a breath to scream, ready to unleash her Alpha roar to stop her brother, Chris already opening his mouth to call Peter's name when --

BANG!

Both hutner and werewolf skidded to a sudden halt, the gunshot echoing through the trees, much louder than Talia remembered such things being. Everything after that was in slow-motion, as if time itself had been stuck in molassas. Werewolf and hunter circled around the great trunk slowly, every so slowly, aftraid of what they'd see. And when they did, Talia broke first.

She screamed and she screamed, her cries blending in with her Alpha roar, radiating outward from the Nemeton in such a way that every werewolf in Beacon County must have heard her grief.

For his part, Chris just collapsed to his knees, totally in shock. He'd seen blood and gore before, it was part of his training. But seeing someone he loved - who he was _in love_ with! - reduced to so much red... his brain refused to process it. Even if he could force it to, he wasn't sure he would.

Those icy blue eyes looked away form what was once Peter, falling to the glint of steel in his hand. Next to him, Talia cried, howling in grief.

Chris reached for the gun.


	2. Alternate Ending #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bittersweet alternate ending to the previous chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I would like to thank Claire for letting me do this story, and since I did such a dark piece in the last one, I decided to lighten it up with this first alternate ending. Let me know what you think.

"Let's see if he wants you now!" Talia called after her younger brother as he fled the house and ran out into the Reserve.

 

-oOo-

 

He tossed the idea around in his head for a few days, as he hid out in the Reserve, thinking over his options. Should he talk to Chris? Would Chris want him once he found out? The Argents had spent generations - at least the last three hundred years - hunting his kind simply for being what they were.

Gods! His kind!

Already he was thinking of himself as a werewolf.

Sure, he'd known that there was a small - read: miniscule - possiblity that the Bite wouldn't take, and would be lethal. For normal people, the chances were higher, around fifty-fifty, of the Bite resulting in death - a slow, agonizing, and painful death. But he was a Hale. The gene was in his blood, even if it wasn't active, so his chances were almost guarenteed.

But as the hours passed by and his wound healed, leaving nothing but smooth, unbroken skin, Peter knocked around the idea of going to Chris, each time the imagined confrontation in his head getting uglier and uglier until he had convinced himself that Chris wouldn't want him anymore. As his sister so lovingly put it earlier that night: he knew the eldest son of the Argent family wouldn't give him the time of day if he came with fangs and claws.

So he talked himself out of running to Chris and the two of them running away together. Looking back, it had all been a silly little fantasy anyway. Their families were too old and too well-established to just let two of their more prominent members' children just disappear off the grid. It didn't work that way. Hunters... Werewolves... both were like the mafia. Once you were in, you were in.

 

-oOo-

 

A few weeks after the Incident, which was what Peter was calling it in his head, he finally saw Chris. He made sure it was somewhere public, less chance of either of them making a scene, though out of the two of them, Peter was the obvious scene-maker.

"Hello, Christopher." Peter kept his voice neutral, his face blank.

"Hey." Chris said, somewhat taken back by Peter approaching him in public. This wasn't usually how this worked. It was especially risky because one of Peter's cousins was lurking nearby, not-so-subtly keeping an eye on Peter. "Where've you been."

"I did some soul-searching." Peter admitted, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket.

"You have one?" Chris couldn't resist joking, cracking a smile that used to invoke a matching one from Peter. It had no such effect this time, Peter remaining as a statue before the young hunter.

"I decided to take the Bite."

All around them people were going about their lives, talking to friends or scolding children, but around Peter and Chris was a vaccum of sound, those words hanging heavy in the air like the suffocating incense of a church. Chris simply stood there, slighlty in shock, his blue eyes wide and his mouth agape - not enough to catch flies, but enough to get the point across that he was surprised.

"I thought about it a lot and realized we never would have worked." Peter soldiered on, averting his eyes to stare just over Chris' shoulder, so that he wouldn't have to see the hurt there. The betrayal. He was sure this was the same look he'd given his sister nearly a month ago. "You're from a family of hunters and I'm from a family of werewolves. It was rebellious and fun, but it never would have worked in the long run." He forced himself to meet Chris' eyes and then found some deep resevoir of strength he didn't even know he had in order to force a halfway convincing smile.

"Now, not to cut and run, but my first full moon is tonight and I need to go get ready." Peter said as he took a few steps back, watching sadly from behind his mask as Chris' face closed down into the cold expression he'd seen on that first night over a year ago. Chris met his eyes for a second before he turned around and walked away, not even a goodbye.

"You take care, Chris Argent!" Peter called after him, his voice nearly breaking along with his heart. He then turned around himself and began to walk toward his Camero, because he wasn't lying; it was his first full moon tonight and the pack had several traditions that they insisted upon.

 

-oOo-

 

From there, the story unfolds as we know it... but with a few omissions.

For starters, Peter joined the Pack, accepting his sister as Alpha and helping train and raise his younger cousins, all while learning about being a wolf himself, but always half-heartedly. It's not like he was openly opposing Talia, or undermining her authority in the Pack, so much as he was just... _there_. Listless and apathetic, lacking almost all the enthusiasm she'd thought he'd have for the Gift. The Alpha's brother should be asset to the pack, not this sullen and brooding mass of teen angst who refused to understand why what Talia did was for the best.

So she stepped up again and made another difficult decision. Five well-placed claws into the back of her baby brother's neck took the memory of that night. The memory of how he'd received the Bite, letting his own mind supply the story that he'd taken it willingly and enthusiastically, like he'd always imagined.

Life went on, and Peter watched his family grow, never having a desire to start one of his own, despite his sister's urging. She even tried to set him up with a werecoyote, but anyone who only went by _The Desert Wolf_ was too much of a drama queen for Peter. If anyone was going to be the diva in the relationship, it was going to be him. And, as the years went by, Peter found himself with a more malicious streak than he remembered having, his tricks often bordering on outright cruel. Like the one he'd played on poor little Derek and his lady-love Paige. The punchline had been delivered, and yes, Paige had ended up dead, but sweet little perfect Derek's eyes now showed what he was.

A murderer.

Maybe now, Talia would stop looking at him with such sorry and pity when she thought he didn't notice. He always noticed. That's how he rose through the hierarchy of the Pack, becoming one of his sister's cheif lieutenants. In most packs around the world, pecking order was achieved through violence, usually fights that could prove fatal. But Peter was an American, and he achieved his rank the same way any other American Politician would: through bribery, blackmail and the occasional blowjob.

You all know how the story goes after that, right?

About a decade after Peter took the Bite, maybe a year after Derek's disastrous love affair with Paige, the Hale Manor burned down, taking Talia and Andrew and nearly every cousin, aunt or uncle with it. his nieces and nephew were away from the house at the time, otherwise the body count would have been higher. Peter himself was the only survivor... if you could call what he went through surviving.

Another decade of torture, trapped in his own burned and withered body, screaming endlessly into the void with no one noticing. Feeling his body repair itself one cell at a time while his mind remained as sharp as ever. With nothing to do but sit and wait, his anger had intensified, twisting his mind into the beast he would eventually become.

Peter honestly didn't remember how it had all happened. He remembered Jennifer, his nurse and her incessant chatter. He remembered the Reserve and seeing Laura standing with her back to him. He remembered her turning to face him, saying his name in surprise. Then all he remembered was the taste of blood, waking up in his immobile body back in the hospital. His dreams, if that's what they were, were increasingly vivid - a boy in a red hoodie being bitten and tossed aside, another unwilling recipient of the Bite. His nephew back in town, all grown up and no longer the scrawny little kid he'd been.

Of course, we all remember what happened after that.

Death after death after death, culminating in the blood of that miserable bitch, Kate Argent staining the burned out windows of what was left of the Hale house. It wasn't like he had long to enjoy his victory, because not long after that he was burning again. He'd never be the same around fire again. Then he remembered Derek's claws ripping out his throat, his eyes burning red and oh, how he looked so much like his mother right then.

That thought struck him powerfully, though he couldn't place why, before the darkness took him.

After that, trapped in the head of a teenage girl.

Resurrection.

The Alpha Pack.

A crazy Druid bitch with a grudge. (The memory of her throat opening under his claws was a bit more clear than all of his memories of life between the fires.)

A Nogitsune possessing a scrawny, sarcastic little boy, causing more damage to the town of Beacon Hills than any of the former situations.

It was during that last situation that his life was turned around again. All thanks to Derek's morbid gesture of love by keeping his dead mother's claws and a young Banshee wanting to gain control over her abilities. That was how the memory was returned to him.

The sight of his sister's lips stained with his blood. The heartache he'd experienced. After he got his memories back he'd _howled_ , letting all his grief and frustation fly out of him with that sound.

It was hard to retain his sarcastic douche persona after that, because every time he saw Chris and Allison he remembered what had transpired between them. The break-up with Chris and then, years later, the various times he threatened Allison. But all that took a back seat to the current situation with the Nogitsune. It culminated in an impressive fight, taking place all across town - the Hospital, the Police Station, the High School, the Nogitsune's demon ninjas (I know, right) racking up an impressive body count.

Peter was with Allison and Isaac at the time, and he watched her move, the same way he remembered Chris moving. Watched that same light of triumph fill her eyes when she figured out a way to kill the Oni. Then there was a dark blur heading in her direction, Isaac calling out her name in warning. She turned, eyes wide in surprise, but the sword intended for her slid easily through Peter instead, as he shoved her out of the way at the last second.

If he though fire was painful, the blade of an Oni was excrutiating. It was as if those blades contained eons of misery and heartache in them and transformed it into a type of physical pain. One so strong that Peter eventually found himself slipping into another coma as his body fought off the metaphysical poison.

 

-oOo-

 

All this catches up to the present, with Peter laid out on Deaton's operating table at the animal clinic. The Nogitsune had been defeated and things were slowly returning back to normal, with the exception of Peter, who remained in his mystical slumber.

"Maybe someone should kiss him." Stiles suggested, looking thoughtfully at the prone werewolf. When he looked up, he saw that the entire room of his friends and allies was looking at him intently. The tips of his ears burned with embarassment while he hunched up his shoulders. "It's just a suggestion."

"I think I found something." Lydia said, looking away from Stiles and holding out the tablet she'd had in her hand to Deaton, who quickly looked over the entry in the Argent bestiary.

"This could work, but we'll have to change this last ingredient." Deaton responded. "That would only work on a born wolf."

All but Derek and Chris are confused.

Peter wasn't born a werewolf? Looking over at their confused faces, Derek took pity on them.

"Peter wasn't born a werewolf?" He explained. "It happens sometimes in families that carry the gene. My mom - his older sister - bit him when he was seventeen."

"Eighteen." Chris corrects automatically.

"Seventeen." Derek repeats.

"No, Peter explained it to me once." Chris shook his head in confusion. "Those in the pack born human could chose to accept the Bite, but only when they were eighteen."

"You and Peter were on speaking terms?" Allison asked, and Chris looked over at his daughter, unsure of where to even begin _that_ conversation. Thankfully, Derek spoke up, preventing an awkward family moment among the remaining Argents.

"Peter didn't exactly chose to take the Bite." Derek explained, looking all the world like he'd rather be _anywhere_ but here, talking about _anything_ but this. Chris didn't exactly bark " _explain_ "... at least, not with his words, but his expression said it all. Derek sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face, suddenly extremely tired, as if everything that had happened over the past few weeks had caught up with him. "I was seven. I don't even remember what the fight was about, especially because no one would explain it to me later. I just remember waking up to yelling and sneaking out of my room, of looking over the banister to see mom and Peter arguing. Loudly. Peter turned to leave and then she bit him. Right there."

The entire room was silent at this revelation, looking between Derek and his unconcious uncle.

"He stayed away for a few weeks after that, but eventually accepted what he was." Derek plowed on. "He never really trusted my mom again, even after."

"After what?" Scott asked, engrossed in the story.

"At the time I didn't understand his sudden change." Derek said. "He went from being this sullen and moody thing to being the happy, mischievous uncle from as far back as I can remember. It wasn't until a few weeks ago when he was adamant on keeping my mom's claws that I realized what she did."

"What?" Stiles asked.

"She stole the memory of how she turned him." Lydia spoke up, her voice quiet yet echoing around the room like a thunderclap.

"That was the memory he wanted you to recover?" Allison asked, remembered the staredown and snarkoff between the banshee and werewolf.

Lydia nodded. "I told him about it in order for him to help us with Stiles when he was possessed." Stiles shifted from foot to foot, looking healthier than he had when possessed by the Nogitsune, but still sallow-skined with dark circles under his eyes. "Apparently something I did unlocked the memory and he got it back."

Chris started at this, his eyes locked on the prone form on the table.

"Dad?" Allison asked, nervous.

"Can I talk to my daughter in private, please?" Chris asked, his icy eyes sweeping the room before Deaton started ushering everyone out.

"What is it?"

"We need to talk..."

 

-oOo-

 

"You mean to tell me that you're dad and Peter used to...?" Stiles let the question hang in the air as he stared at his best friend's ex-girlfriend.

"Please don't make me repeat it." Allison said, her voice strained.

"And Peter broke things off with your dad after he was turned?" Scott asked, much more gently than Stiles. Allison nodded. "But Peter didn't really remember their relationship because Talia stole the memory from him." Lydia nodded this time. "Is that why he was such an asshole these past few years?"

"Deaton said Talia stealing those memories may have been what made him that way." Allison supplied. "Something about not having a memory to connect all that anger and betrayal to twisting his mind into finding some sort of outlet."

Isaac spoke up, "So now what?"

"Now, Dad's going to wait for Peter to wake up so they can talk."

All six teenagers sat there in contemplative silence - Scott, Allison, Lydia, Stiles, Isaac and Kira, the latter not so contemplative because she never really met the man or heard any of the stories about him.

"Well, as someone who made out with a younger version of Peter, I can say your dad has good tastes?" Lydia pointed out, trying to lighten the mood.

Allison looked at her best friend for a moment before shuddering as she pictured something.

 

-oOo-

 

The first thing Peter saw when he woke up was a pair of concerned blue eyes. The rest of his vision came into focus and the blurry outline with the blue eyes was revealed to be one Christopher Argent.

"Well, if it isn't my knight in shining armor." Peter couldn't help but crack a joke, wincing slightly at the pain of the sword-wound in his torso.

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of whit." Chris retaliated before smirking slightly. "Sleeping Beauty."

Peter settled back on the table, closing his eyes to rest his head some more. "So why are you standing guard? Making sure I don't sneak off to go on some kind of killing spree?"

"I was actually waiting for you to wake up?" Chris admitted. Peter cracked open one blue eye to look at the aged hunter.

"Why?"

"We need to talk?"

"About what?" Peter fired back.

"About how much of an idiot you are." Chris said.

"Excuse me?"

"Why didn' you tell me?" Chris asked.

"Tell you what?" Peter's suspicion rose with ever question.

"About how you were turned?" Silence reigned after that question.

"I - I..." Peter couldn't figure out what to say to that, a rare occurence.

"I wouldn't have cared." Chris clarified. "And I still don't."

"Christopher..."

"Rest up, Peter." Chris settled back into the chair in Deaton's office. "Once you're feeling better, we'll talk about it." Peter was silent. "Maybe over dinner?"

Peter contemplated that offer before looking over and offering a smile, the first genuine smile he'd worn in a really long time.

"I'd like that."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: the next alternate ending will be incredibly dark, probably more so than the first one, but as I've said to Claire already, more homicidal than suicidal.
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://thehollowprince.tumblr.com/)


	3. Alternate Ending #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Peter wasn't so passive after taking the Bite?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Notes:  
> 1\. This chapter is by far the darkest. You've been warned. If you wish to skip over the really dark part, it's the stuff that's italicized in the middle of the chapter. This stuff deals with murder.
> 
> 2\. I never explained the title, which is from the song "Retrograde" by James Blake. I was listening to it while I was trying to come up with the title, and it stuck me. So, I went to the dictionary to look up what retrograde officially meant and here's the definition, or at least the part I was concerned with: _"1. going backward - to move backward, to recede, to retreat. 2. To deteriorate."_ That last part was what got me to chose this as a title.
> 
> 3\. This wasn't a planned chapter. While I was writing the original ending, I was listening to "Control" by Halsey and the one part of the chorus stuck out to me, inspiring this. _"All the kids cried out: Please stop you're scaring me, I can't help this awful energy, God-damn right you should be scared of me."_ So... blame Halsey.

Chris Argent walked through the front door of his apartment - the one he got when he turned nineteen for two reasons. One, because he needed some space from his overbearing and paranoid family, and two, so that he and Peter wouldn't have to resort to shady hook-ups in the woods or in the back seat of his truck - not that those didn't happen as well, but still.

He was a bit agitated and weary at the moment, having spent another fruitless night searching for Peter, whom he hadn't seen in weeks. Not since that night almost a month ago, out by the preserve. Sighing in frustration and shrugging off his leather jacket to hang on the hook, he kicked the door closed behind him before he froze.

Almost immediatly he knew something was wrong. The locks were still in place, the security system armed and the door hadn't been kicked in when he arrived, but someone was in his home. Maybe it was hunter's instincts or just a gut feeling, but Chris knew someone was there. Someone who didn't belong there. As quietly as possible, the young hunter pulled his .45 from the back waistband of his jeans and held it before him, steadily in a two-handed grip. He crept forward stealthily, entering the living room and seeing his window wide open. Not shattered, just open, the curtains fluttering in the cool night air that came in. But that wasn't the only thing that drew his attention.

There was blood on the sill. Blood in the form of a hand print, very stark and noticable on the pale wood.

Subltly and silently, Chris pulled back the hammer of his gun with this thumb, creeping futher into his own house. Trailing outward from the open window was a trail of bloody footprints, moving almost daintily around the coffee talble and couch, as if whoever was covered in the blood walked on their toes, afraid to cause too much of a mess in Chris' apartment. He followed the trail down the hall, seeing it turn into his bedroom. This close to his bedroom he could hear the shower running.

Chris frowned in confusion as he moved forward, slowly, cautiously. The gun in his hand was raised and pointed into the room before he turned the corner, aimed in the general area another man's chest and torso would be. When he looked, he realized his room was empty as well, though the trail of bloody footprints continued onward into the en suite bathroom, steam pouring out of the open doorway.

A sense of dread grew and grew in Chris as he drew closer, moving to stand in view of the open doorway, gun still raised, though slowly starting to droop when he saw who was in his shower.

Peter - beautiful, naked Peter stood in his shower, partially obscured by the heavy fog of steam and the pouring spray from the showerhead. And he was _beautiful_ , oh, yes he was. But it was a terrible beauty at the moment, painted as he was in blood. And from what Chris could see of Peter, which was a lot, he knew the blood wasn't his. Instinct demanded he rush forward and make sure that his boyfriend was okay, try and find out who would dare to wound his Peter and then make them suffer in many horrible ways, but another part - the hunter part - told him to wait, to be patient.

Clearly, as he already rationalized, the blood wasn't Peter's. So the big question was: _who's was it_? And more importantly, _how did it get there_?

Chris stood transifxed,watching as Peter rasied his bloody hands, slicking back his hair with water and thicker things, watching as that clear liquid turned a dark shade of pink that sluiced down that toned body. It was macabre, yet lovely, like some dark painting that should have been hanging in some dark chateau in France; a relic of a darker, more sensual time.

Peter kept his arms off, rising out his hair and letting the spray hit his arms, shoulders and upper chest until the water ran clear. It was at this point in time Peter turned, angling his body more toward the open doorway and that was when Chris saw the barely perceptible glint of blue, letting him know that Peter knew he was there and was allowing him to watch.

"Hello, Christopher." Peter said, his voice dark and husky and Chris watched, mesmerized as those hands, those elegant hands, slid down that pale torso taut with muscles that one wouldn't suspect on someone like Peter, his thumb absently rubbing a nipple. Peter bit his bottom lip at the sensation before allowing his hands to continue downward, washing the blood off of his lower extremities. Chris' eyes followed the path that Peter's hands took, coming to rest on his groin, where Peter was rubbing himself over and over in the pretense of getting the blood out. Peter smirked as Chris averted his eyes, his face burning with something akin to shame or embarassment.

He wasn't sure entirely what it was. He'd seen Peter nude before, had even participated in the unwrapping. And it wasn't even that he was hard because Chris had seen it up close and personal, stoked it and licked it, helped bring Peter off with nothing but his lips and tongue, but now... Something about what Peter was doing, especially with his hands covered in blood was made Chris feel dirty. It was vulgar and slightly disturbing.

"What's the matter, Christopher?" Peter asked, his tone slightly mocking. The water was shut off and Chris looked over, watching warily as Peter stalked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, only Chris' bed - the bed where he and Peter had fucked more than once - standing between them.

"Where have you been?" Chris asked, turning back to look at him but keeping his eyes averted. He had a tendancy to lose his focus the more skin Peter showed. So he had his eyes trained on Peter's shoulder. His bare, wet shoulder and the smooth skin covering the taut muscle underneath.

"Around?"

"Really?" Chris couldn't help but snap. "Because I've been looking for you for weeks."

"I had to pull myself together." Peter answered, his voice a bit softer than it had been previously. This caused Chris to look at him full-on, keeping his eyes on his face and not the nude body decorated with glittering water droplets.

"Why?"

Peter didn't answer right away, or even directly. He just averted his eyes for a second, looking down at the carpet at his feet, and it was then that Chris realized Peter had slowly been circling around the bed. There was less than half a dozen feet between them now. When Peter looked up, those beautiful blue eyes were replaced by burning irises of bloody red. Chris couldn't stop his body's reaction - natural instinct honed by years of hunter training.

He took a step back.

He hadn't even finished the step when he regretted it, watching Peter's face close off. It was strange, really, because Peter's blank face was a cocky, arrogant smirk, not the blank mask most people put on. It's what allowed Peter to fool so many people about how he was feeling on the inside - even werewolves. Chris felt horrible for having caused that reaction in the man he loved, having not seen that face since he'd first met him on the preserve over a year ago.

Chris swallowed past the lump in his throat. "You took the Bite."

"Not willingly." Peter's voice was ice, utterly cold and devoid of emotion. Chris' eyes widened.

"Talia...?" He didn't know how to even begin going about asking _that_ question.

"She found out about us." Peter finished in an almost bored tone. "She obviously didn't take it well." He was inspecting the nails on his right hand, as if he weren't utterly naked in Chris' bedroom talking about he metaphysical rape he endured at the hands of his older sister.

"And she bit you?" Chris was sure his voice trembled a bit when he asked that, and knew that Peter must be scenting so many different emotions coming off of him at the moment, the primary two being shock and rage.

"Only after I made it clear that I wasn't going to leave you." Peter clariffied. "And that I was perfectly okay with leaving Beacon Hills." He huffed in what might seem to be amusement, but Chris wasn't so sure. "She overracted."

" _Overreacted_?" Chris' voice rose, the anger becoming the more dominant emotion.

"Her parting shot was something like 'Let's see if he wants you now.'" Peter quipped, keeping his voice utterly neutral and not letting it show how much they'd wounded him.

"I'll always want you." Chris stated blindly in the heat of the moment with the ignorance of the youth. "Why woudn't I..." He paused, his brain catching up with his heart. "Wait... you're eyes were red." Peter's face was still blank and Chris felt something akin to horror settle in his gut. "Peter." He waited until Peter met his eyes. "Who's blood was that?"

"You really want to know?" Peter asked, his eyes still red. He closed the fingers of his right hand before flicking them open quickly. Each finger was now tipped with a claw that would make any predator proud. Before Chris could protest, Peter was standing in front of him. "Let me show you?"

Five sharp points embeded themselves in the back of Chris' neck, piercing his spine and brain stem. Instantly his eyes began to process an onslaught of images that weren't there, Peter's memories suddenly dumped into his head.

He saw...

 

-oOo-

 

_I stepped around a pool of blood that was spreading rapidly out across the floor, feeling new sensations from my bare feet that I'd never even thought possible. Is this why so many werewolves insisted on being barefoot, because if so, he understood now. The new level of tactile awareness was overwhelming, but I'd gotten a hang of it. It had only taken me a week or so, but I had mastered it... all without Talia's help, I feel I should add._

_Just thinking of my older sister soured my mood, made me remember how we'd all ended up in the situation we were in. Well... I was in. And speaking of my big sister..._

_Talia lay on the floor a few feet away, the sounds coming out of her mouth alternating between moaned whimpers and rage-filled growls. As the sounds alternated, so to did her eyes, from Alpha red to human brown._

_"I'll kill you!" She snarled, the effect both ruined and enhanced by the tears that stained her cheeks. "I'll rip you apart and stretch your screams across decades!"_

_"Oh, you do say the sweetest things." I said in return, knowing that my face, blood-stained as it was, supported a menacing smirk - some would say wolf-like. Just the thought made me huff in amusement. "But we both know that if you hadn't done what you'd done, we wouldn't have ended up here." I stepped around the body of my niece - little Laura - torn in half at the waist, her insides stewn out in between the two halves. I spared an unsympathetic glance down, her glassy eyes frozen forever in the moments of horror that had contorted her beautiful face before her death._

_"Fuck you!" Talia practically roared as she tried to climb to her feet, only to fall back to the floor, her cries a mix of grief and pain as she looked at what remained of her family spread out around her._

_"Really, Talia, resorting to cussing?" I mocked her, unable to resist. I mean, it was almost poetic, given the circumstances of the night she bit me, invalidating my feelings because they weren't hers. "It's so... low class." My big sister simply cried more. I stepped around the body of my seven-year-old nephew, little Derek's head twisted almost completely around. He was one of the only innocents in all of this, which was why his death was quick and virtually painless - the first so that he didn't have to witness the atrocities I was going to deliver to this pack._

_I almost felt bad about that one, but it had to be done._

_Scattered all around the room were the various body parts of the pack members who'd put up a fight, coming to their Alpha's defense before I ripped them apart. I may have only been a wolf for a few weeks but I had spent my life learning how to fight, learning how to keep up with my gifted family. Add to that the things that Chris had taught me and these mutts hadn't stood a chance._

_I was nearly on top of my sister now, kicking aside the body of her husband, my brother-in-law. I'd taken particular pleasure in his mutilation, ripping off his genetailia to make him the eunuch he was for standing aside and letting his wife dictate everyone's life. I had let him bleed out, listening to his pathetic groans and whimpers before I had simply crushed his skull with my foot - his whining had been boring._

_Talia looked up at me as I crouched next to her, completely unashamed of my nakedness, her tear-streaked face enraged but pained. She'd put up a hell of a fight, but I'd gotten her down in the end, rendering her practically a cripple by severing her spinal collumn near the waist, rendering her legs momentarily useless. As a werewolf, she'd heal in time, probably a lot faster than most given her alpha status, but someone, I didn't think she'd live long enough for that._

_"You murdered your family." Talia cried._

_"They were never my family." I pointed out. "They were yours and I was just the tag-along brother hanging around. The token human in a family of werewolves. The constant source of amusement." I waved my hand for dramatic effect. "The court jester, if you will."_

_I sighed, and this time it wasn't exaggerated. Under all this bluster and arrogance (and blood) I was tired - weary._

_"No, Talia." I said. "I was going to leave this small town with the man I loved. We were going to start a family." I felt my expression harden at the thought. "Until you stole that chance from me." I knew at the moment my eyes were blazing an unnatural shade of blue - the mark of a murderous werewolf. Don't ask me how I knew, but I just_ knew _. It was like a light shining from behind my eyes, making everything clearer and brighter, allowing me to pick out shades of red in the blood that human eyes never would have seen. I had barely had time to get used to my new golden eyes before I was stuck with these blue ones, though the actions that resulted in this were entirely of my own making. On the plus side, I wouldn't have to see the blue all that much._

_"You took my family from me, Talia." I said to my older sister as if I was speaking to a small child. "It's only fair I take yours from you."_

_"You fucking coward!" Talia found a hidden resevoir of strength, her eyes blazing red wholly as she started to rise from the floor. I didn't give her a chance to get too far. My new claws sliced through the air, faster than her, and slid easily through her throat, my sister's blood flying in a glittering arch that was almost artistic in it's macabre beauty._

_Talia fell back to the floor, gurgling wettly as he blood was pumped out of the gashes in her throat, her spine glinting dully through the bursts of fluid. Her eyes faded from red to brown before they were just dull and lifeless, like doll's eyes. I felt my own eyes burn even brighter than before and knew that they were now red._

_I stood up and looked around at the massacre around me before moving toward the front door, passing the large mirror on the one wall as I did so. It was cracked and hanging askew now, but I could still see myself._

_Nude and stained with various fluids. Blood dripped from my hair and hands and mouth, and my eyes burned like sunflares. All that red was a contrast to my paleness and the effect was magnified by the cracks in the mirror, which produced several reflections of me._

_Although, one of the slivers of mirror didn't reflect back me but Chris, his pale eyes wide at the memory he'd just witnessed..._

 

-oOo-

Chris dropped to his knees the second Peter had pulled out his claws. He felt his stomach churn and had just enough time to turn away from Peter before he emptied it's contents onto the floor, the bile burning the back of his throat as he retched repeatedly.

"I know, I know." Peter said sympathetically. "It's a little jarring to experience someone else's memory like that and I am still new at this, but it'll pass." He ran his hand in a comforting manner through Chris' blond hair. For his part, Chris continued to dry heave from where he knelt, his muscular body hunched over in pain. He felt Peter leave his side before he returned with a damn washcloth. Chris flinched when Peter touched him, but the newly turned werewolf didn't shy away, chalking it up to the after-effects of the memory transfer. He was persistant and patient, wiping at Chris' sweaty forehead before cleaning the sick from his mouth. Once he deemed Chris clean enough, he stood once again and returned to the bathroom to dispose of the rag.

"I know that was harsh, but we're free now." Peter continued as he turned on the shower again, checking the temperature to make sure it wasn't too hot for Chris' human skin. Chris continued to remain in his hunched over position, his mind replaying the images over and over in his mind while Peter talked in the background. He just couldn't process it. His relationship with Peter may have never been known by the Hale family until recently, and he certainly wouldn't have been welcome at their house because of what he was, but he'd seen the family around town.

He remembered observing from a discreet distance once, watching Peter help young Derek build a sandcastle and the little boy smiling with his missing two-front teeth. He remembered being in town one day and seeing a teenage boy try to get handsy with a recently-developing Laura and feeling a sense of pride when he watched her knock him on his ass (in a move that he had taught Peter). He remembered seeing Talia and Andrew around town, holding hands and acting as in love today as the stories painted them over fifteen years ago. And try as he might, Chris just couldn't reconcile those images with the ones of the broken bodies Peter had just placed in his mind.

Chris could still hear their screams in his head, still smell the thick scent of blood, feel it under claws he didn't have, taste it washing down his throat. And then the scent of burning wood and meat as Peter had burned his ancestral home to the ground. It was just too much.

"... and we can start our own family now." Peter said, leaving the bathroom to come and fetch Chris, frowning when he saw him still hunched over the sick he'd thrown up, his heartbeat still erratic despite having several minutes to shake off the after-effects. "Christopher?"

Chris finally turned his head to look at Peter, the man he'd wanted to spend his life with. A part of him still wanted that, but the other part - the dominant part - couldn't seperate the man in front of him with the monster who'd done those horrible things to his family. It was then that he noticed his gun was on the floor, right next to his hand.

He reached...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think.


	4. Alternate Ending #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How things could have happened if Peter and Chris had just left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so long overdue and I apologize to everyone (Claire) that's been waiting for it. I just couldn't get it right in my head and on paper so I rewrote it almost a dozen times and I'm still not totally satisfied with it, but I'm going to post it because it's the best one I've done so far.

"Let's see if he wants you now!" Talia called after her younger brother as he fled the house and ran out into the Reserve.

 

**-oOo-**

 

Chris sat bolt up, the gun from under his pillow in his hand and pointed in the direction of his open door.  It took him a second to blink through the remnants of the nice dream he'd been in, to climb through the fog of sleep to realize what had woken him was someone pounding on the front door of his apartment.  Incessantly, he should add.  Glancing over, he saw that it was only an hour after Peter had left to head home, and less than half that since he'd fallen asleep. 

  
Frowning to himself, Chris pushed back the covers of his bed and padded out of his bedroom and into the hallway, moving closer to the front door, without stopping to put something on over his boxers.  The closer he drew to his front door, the louder and more insistent the pounding grew, one pound on the wood easily blending into the next one so the sound was almost constant.  Chris pressed the barrel of his gun against the wood of the door, aiming hopefully for the general area of another person's chest, just in case, before he put that icy eye to the peep hole, seeing a distraught Peter on the other side.

  
The gun in his hand was immediately lowered and Chris unlocked the door without a second thought.  He opened the door and almost instantly, Peter fell through and into Chris' arms, burying his face in the crook of his boyfriend's neck, sobbing loudly and openly - something Chris thought he'd never see.  Peter never let anyone, not even Chris, see him as less than composed.  He'd remember having the thought that Peter would have made a great hunter, even though he'd wanted to get out of that life himself.  So for Peter to be crying in front of Chris, with the apartment door still wide open, something big must have happened.

  
Speaking of the front door being open, Chris looked out the open door and saw one of his neighbors looking out their own door, peeping through the crack that their chain allowed.  Hoping to avoid any kind of scene, Chris pulled Peter further into the apartment, hiding the gun that was still naked in his hand behind his lover's body and kicking the door closed once they were out of the way.

  
"What's the matter?" Chris asked, once the door was closed.  "What happened?"

  
"Talia!" Peter sobbed.  "She... she..." He stuttered, unable to vocalize the anguish that wracked his mind.  It was then that Chris felt the first drop of warm liquid hit his bare foot.  He looked down, but didn't need to.  He knew the warmth of blood when he felt it.  Even still, he looked down and saw the splash of crimson dotting the top of his foot.  His gaze rose to the blood-soaked cloth that clung to Peter's forearm.  Peter didn't even try to stop or protest as Chris set his gun down on the coffee table and began to roll up the sleeve, revealing the bite mark.

  
"She bit you." He wanted to phrase it as a question, he really did, but it wasn't.  The evidence was clear.  And, given the way that Peter was crying and the raw edges of the Bite, Talia didn't wait for Peter to give his consent.  A part of him burned with rage, wanted to pick that gun back up and become the embodiment of righteous fury, become the hunter he was trained to be and hunt down the big, bad wolf.  But the other part, the more dominant part - thank whatever diety was listening - was more concerned with the wreck of a boyfriend he had in his arms.

  
Chris wrapped his arms around Peter and let the younger man cling to him, to cry it out, to let all the grief and the pain and the betrayal flow out through his tears.  Peter cried and Chris held him, rubbing his hand soothingly up and down his back in the comforting way while telling him over and over it'll be okay.  He knew, and Peter knew, that it wasn't really going to be completely okay, but they enjoyed the lie for the moment.

  
Some amount of time later - could have been minutes, could have been hours - Chris maneuvered Peter through the apartment and into the bathroom.  The jacket had been removed, and the shirt as well, but Chris wasn't overwhelmed to ravish that lovely physique, he was more concerned with cleaning and bandaging the wound on Peter's arm.  The tears had stopped, as had the body-wracking sobs, but Peter was cold, almost broken in some way, possibly in shock.  It pained Chris to see him that way.

  
"There we go." Chris said, tying the bandage in place and offering what he hoped was an encouraging smile to his boyfriend.  "Should barely even scar."

  
"It won't." Peter's voice was so soft Chris almost missed it.  "It'll be gone by the morning."

  
"We don't know that." Chris attempted to argue.

  
"It beats the alternative." Peter said, meeting Chris' pale blue eyes with his own darker ones before looking away.  "Unless you want to wake up to me oozing black blood from various orifices."

  
"Hey." Chris snapped, grabbing Peter's chin and forcing him to look Chris in the eye.  "Don't talk like that!"  Chris swallowed around the lump in his throat at the very thought of what Peter described and the newly bitten possible-werewolf saw the naked fear in those baby blues.  "You're going to be fine."

  
"What are you doing, Chris?" Peter asked, unable to stop himself.

  
"Taking care of you." Chris answered, letting his fingers trace Peter's jaw for a moment before dropping his hand completely, turning to his task of cleaning up the first aid kit and putting it back under the sink, doing his best to keep his eyes averted.

  
"Why?" Peter asked.  "I mean, after what happened..." He let the sentence hang in the air.

  
"It changes nothing." Chris mumbled as he washed his hands.

  
"It changes everything." Peter said, scoffing at the mere notion of everything being the same.

  
"It changes nothing!" Chris repeated aggressively, turning to glare at Peter and it was then he saw the tears in his hunter's eyes.  "I said I loved you, no matter what, and I meant that." He turned off the water and moved to stand in front of where Peter was sitting on the closed toilet.  He knelt down so that he had an easier time of looking into his boyfriend's eyes.  "Whether you hadn't taken the bite at all, or if you'd taken it willingly, it wouldn't have mattered to me."  He never broke eye contact, letting Peter know he was being utterly truthful.  "I love you and I want to start a life with you, and not a God damn thing on this planet is going to change that."

  
Peter surged forward and kissed Chris, not the aggressive and needy ones they usually exchanged but just as emotional, pouring all the love he was feeling in that moment into that simple press of lips to lips, letting Chris know how much what he'd just said meant to him.  A few moments later, when the need for oxygen became overwhelming, they broke apart, breathing heavily and resting their foreheads against one another's.

  
"Let's get some sleep." Chris whispered, his breath ghosting across Peter's face.  "We'll talk some more in the morning."  Peter nodded his head in agreement and stood up, following Chris into his bedroom.  The younger man stripped out of his clothes until he was just in his boxer-briefs, same as Chris, and together the two crawled into the young hunter's bed.  The lights were turned off and Peter lay buried into Chris' side, throwing his long, lanky arm over that well-defined torso possessively, while Chris did like-wise with his arm curling around Peter's shoulders, protectively.

  
Peter fell asleep to the sound of Chris' steady heartbeat.

 

**-oOo-**

 

"Everyone needs to calm down!" Andrew shouted, standing between his wife and Chris with his arms out, trying to keep them apart.  Talia was growling, eyes glowing and claws out, her mouth full of fangs, while Chris was ice cold, gun out and pointed at the werewolf, his hand steady and unwavering.  Behind Chris, Peter lurked, eyes downcast, while behind Talia several of her wolves stood ready to fight, their own fangs and claws openly on display, eyes blazing golden.

  
That morning had been a flurry of activity, starting with Chris waking up and talking Peter down from the edge once again when it was revealed that the bite was completely healed, signaling that the Bite had taken and that Peter was now a werewolf.  After Chris had once again reminded Peter that he wasn't going to leave him, that he wanted to start a life with him - werewolf or not - there had been a quick stop at the Argent family home for Chris to tell his mother, if not his father and sister, that he was leaving, that he was out of the Life.  While Gerard and Kate hadn't taken the news well, which he'd expected, Mary Argent had been supportive of her son, wishing him happiness, and since the women were the leaders in this family, Chris got to leave without resorting to a gun fight.

  
And now, here they were, at the Hale House deep in the Beacon Hills Reserve so that Peter could gather what belongings he wanted before they left to start their life together.  
"Get the hell out of my house!" Talia practically roared, those burning red eyes trained on icy blue.

  
"Not until after Peter gets his things." Chris retaliated, neither his eyes nor his hand wavering.

  
"He can get them while you wait outside." She growled.

  
"No.  Not after what you did to him last night." Chris was the total opposite of the enraged Alpha, entirely calm, his mind in that nice calm space he went to before he pulled the trigger.  Not that he wanted to pull the trigger, this was Peter's sister, after all, but that wasn't to say he wasn't prepared to.

  
"After what I did?" She snarled.  "What about what he did, inviting a viper into this house?"

  
"The Bite is only to be taken willingly." Chris spit out calmly.  "Never by force.  That's your rule, not ours.  The only reason I haven't pulled this trigger is because you have children watching and because Peter asked me not to."  Talia's eyes unconsciously flickered to her younger brother.

  
"All the more reason for him to stay here." Talia ground out.  "I may have acted out of haste but he's a werewolf and he belongs with his pack."

  
"You're not his alpha!" Chris' composure snapped, that pretty face twisting with his own rage as he took a threatening step forward, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder from Peter.  Chris' eyes flicked back to his boyfriend before he allowed himself to be pulled back a step, lowering the gun.

  
"I'm just getting a few of my things and then we'll be gone." Peter explained, his eyes moving from his boyfriend to his sister, his expression hardening into an icy mask that revealed nothing.  Seeing that utterly neutral expression on her baby brother's face softened her own resolve, causing her to pull back her fangs and claws and let her eyes return to their normal dark brown.

  
"Peter, I..." Talia tried, unsure of what to say.

  
"No, Talia." Peter interrupted his big sister.  "We had a chance to talk this through and you threw that away."  Peter locked eyes with her.  "You're my sister and I love you, but I can't trust you anymore."  At those words, the mighty alpha of the pack seemed to deflate.  This only lasted a minute before she composed herself behind a mask of utter indifference that would have made any Argent proud.

  
"You understand what that entails?" She asked.

  
"You mean being an omega?" Peter questioned.  "Yes, I'm aware."

  
"You'll be alone." Talia said, her voice cold.

  
"No he won't." Chris spoke up, drawing the Alpha's attention to him.  She drew back her lip and sneered at him.

  
"Very well." Talia said after a moment, swinging her gaze back to her younger brother.  "But as an omega you are not allowed on Pack lands, as you know."

  
"I know." Peter answered.

  
"Then go get your things and get out of my house." Talia snapped.  Peter skirted around his sister for the main staircase, heading upstairs and down the hall of the manor he'd grown up in toward his bedroom.  He was kind of hesitant about leaving Chris downstairs by himself with his family, but if anyone could handle themselves against a family of werewolves, it was Chris.  Once in his room, he looked around, suddenly struck by a strong sense of nostalgia.  He'd grown up in this room.  His eyes traveled from the posters on the walls to the books on his bookshelf.  He swallowed down his grief, or whatever emotion it was he was feeling and got to work, pulling out a duffle from his closet and packing up the clothing he treasured the most as well as the journal his mother had gotten him for his sixteenth birthday and several of his favorite books.

  
Once he finished packing the bag, he zipped it up and slung the strap over his shoulder.  He observed his room one last time before turning around and freezing.  Standing there in the doorway, hugging the frame and half out of sight was Derek, looking smaller and tinier than Peter remembered.

  
"Hey, buddy." Peter said softly, unsure of how to proceed.

  
"Are you leaving?" Derek asked, his voice small.

  
Peter hesitated before answering.  "Yeah."

  
"I don't want you to go." Derek looked down at the carpet.  Peter knelt in front of his nephew.

  
"I know, Der.  I know." Peter said.  "But I have to."  Derek started to sniffle a little, his big eyes filling up with tears.  "Hey, hey, don't do that." Peter said, pulling Derek into a hug and letting his nephew bury his face in the crook of his neck.  He stayed kneeling for a minute or two before pulling back and offering his nephew a smile.  "Don't worry, I'll come back and visit. I promise." He wiped away a few of Derek's tears before standing up and reaching over.  From the dresser nearby, he plucked a stuffed wolf toy, one that he'd had for years, even if he didn't play with it.

  
"Here." He presented his nephew with the toy.  "Whenever you want to talk to me, talk to him."  Derek accepted the toy and hugged it to his chest, doing his best not to cry.  Peter stood back up, ruffling his nephew's hair before hiking his bag back over his shoulder.  Together, the two exited Peter's bedroom and navigated the halls until they reached the stairs, heading down toward the tense situation in the living room.

  
"You got everything?" Chris asked, his eyes darting from Talia to his boyfriend.

  
"Yeah." Peter sighed tiredly.  Once more he ruffled Derek's hair before stepping away from his nephew and moving toward his boyfriend.  Quick goodbyes were exchanged between Peter and a few of the pack members, as well as his brother-in-law before the two young men were out the door, down the porch and toward Chris' truck.  Peter did his best to ignore the sounds he could hear coming from inside the house due to his newly heightened hearing, throwing his duffel into the back of the truck before climbing into the passenger seat.  He was just fastening his seatbelt while Chris was revving the engine that he saw several of the pack members step out of the house to stand on the front porch in the side-view mirror.

  
Chris glanced at him for a second and when Peter didn't make any move for him to stop, he put the truck in gear and started to pull out of the driveway.  The house was still in view when the first of his old pack mates back at the house began to howl.  That lone howl was joined by another and another until over half the pack was howling at the loss of Peter.

  
For his part, Peter did his best to remain stoic, even though he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes.  It wasn't until he heard Derek join the rest of them that he broke.  Little Derek, not yet grown into his powers fully was doing his best to howl with the other, more experienced wolves, but still sounding so much like a little boy pretending to be a wolf howling at the moon.

  
The tears fell first, hot and wet, down his cheeks, mere seconds before the sobs broke through the walls he built around himself.  He buried his face into his hands and let the tears come, sobbing loudly but holding back the urge to scream with all his might.  The further away from the Hale House they got, the fainter the howls became and the less Peter cried.  Truthfully, at that point, he felt empty, as if he'd just gotten rid of everything that made him who he'd been for the last seventeen years, all in the form of tears.  As he slumped in the seat, his head against the window, he felt a hand encircle his.  Looking over, he saw that Chris had placed his hand over Peter's, tangling their fingers and squeezing, reminding Peter that he wasn't as alone as he thought.

 

Well, maybe he hadn't gotten rid of everything good about his life.

 

 

**\- TWENTY YEARS LATER -**

 

Chris Argent sat at the table in his kitchen, paperwork for his company and bills strewn out in front of him across almost the entire surface.  Time had treated him well, our Mr. Argent.  Still handsome, though a bit more in the rugged sense, with the almost perpetual stubble coating his strong jaw. Still strong and muscled as he exercised daily, making sure he could keep up with those younger than him.  Sure, his hair had silvered with his age, but it was still thick and covered his entire head (something that couldn't be said about his father.)  And his eyes were a blue as pale and piercing as ever, but now he required a set of glasses, something that he was teased for immensely.

  
One thing that hadn't changed in the almost twenty years since he'd put it on was the simple wedding band on his left ring finger.  Looking down at the simple adornment to his hand, a small smile found its way to the normally stern face, crow's feet crinkling nicely at the corners of those pale eyes.

  
"Thinking of selling it for some extra cash?"

  
Chris looked up and saw his husband of nearly twenty years enter the kitchen.

  
"Well, you know how money's been a bit tight." Chris retorted, tilting his head up as Peter approached, bag of groceries in his (very muscular) arms, letting him lean in and meet his lips in a kiss.  If time had been nice to Chris, it took Peter to a spa and pampered him.  Still youthful, but more distinguished, with some meat on those scrawny limbs now.  His eyes were still blue - darker than his husbands - and his mouth still generous - with a tongue that could be down right wicked in almost any way you can imagine (and Chris could definitely imagine).  In recent years, Peter had also taken to the latest fashion trend of V-neck t-shirts, all the better to show off his muscular chest and the tantalizing stretch of skin around his throat.

  
"It's nice to know the symbol of our commitment counts less than our bills."  Peter snarked.

  
"Just trying to keep it real." Chris fired back.

  
"Don't say 'keep it real', Dad." A young woman's voice said from the hallway.  Chris looked over to see his seventeen-year-old daughter - their seventeen-year-old-daughter - Allison enter the kitchen as well, another bag of groceries from the Farmer's Market in her hands.  "Makes you sound old."  She set the bag on the counter before looking her dad in the eye.  "Well... older."

  
"Thanks, Allison." Chris deadpanned, glaring at his husband's back and the minute tremors of those broad shoulders, signaling that Peter was holding back his laughter.

  
"No problem." Allison grinned.  Chris was overcome with a sense of awe every time she did that.  Almost two years after he and Peter left Beacon Hills, they approached an old friend of Chris' to ask a favor.  Anyone who knew Victoria Campbell would never have thought, even in a thousand years, that she would agree to be the surrogate to the guy her family wanted her to marry (to preserve the bloodlines) and his werewolf boyfriend.  I mean, Passions couldn't make this up.  But agree she did (after much persuasion and many bottles of expensive wine) and here they were, eighteen-years later with the product of that surrogacy standing in his kitchen, eating a Twizzler casually while she regaled her fathers with her day at school.

  
Not to be crude, but they'd both provided the... samples to create Allison and they never took a DNA test to know for sure, but when she smiled like that, her long dark curls tumbling over shoulders, her dark eyes crinkled, he was almost entirely sure she was a Hale after all.  She just reminded him so much of Talia from the old pictures Peter kept and think he didn't know about.  But like he said, he wasn't 100% sure.  Regardless of who's DNA made her, she was theirs.  Only theirs.  Well... Victoria did stop in one a month, taking Allison on shopping trips while learning more about her biological daughter.

  
It was a functioning, modern family and more importantly it was theirs.  Despite the ups and downs they'd had over the years, the thoughts of divorce and adultery, Chris wouldn't trade his family in for anything.

  
Allison hopped off the counter and pulled something out of the paper bag while Peter was busy chopping up vegetables and throwing them into the pot of water slowly starting to come to a boil.  Checking to make sure he was engrossed in his task, she moved toward Chris and held out a box from the bakery down the street, the one that made the cookies that Chris loved.

  
"I managed to sneak these in." Allison whispered conspiratorially.

  
"I heard that." Peter said casually, not even bothering from turning around from his task of cutting up the chicken.

  
"You also had four on the way home." Their daughter shot back in the way that only teenagers can.

  
"Did he now?" Chris asked, opening the box and indulging himself in cookie before dinner, standing up to stretch his legs and rest his eyes from staring at the little numbers on the bills and statements.

  
"He did." Allison answered before sitting at the table herself, clearing  space and then pulling out her smartphone, leaning back in the chair and crossing her feet at the ankles on the edge of the table.  Chris took her former post, leaning backward against the counter by the sink, next to his husband while nibbling on his cookie.  "You shouldn't eat too many of those, dad." His daughter said, looking up over the top of her phone.  "You're starting to get a little pudgy around the middle."

  
Chris choked a mouthful of cookie and Peter didn't even attempt to cover his laughter this time.  Once Chris managed to swallow the baked goods without choking, he looked over at his daughter with what he hoped was his best glare.  
"Excuse me, young lady?" Chris asked in disbelief.

  
"I'm just saying, dad." Allison responded offhandedly.  "Maybe the next time you're at the gym, instead of checking out pop's ass, you should do a few more crunches."  She looked up from her screen to give him a wolfish grin that reminded him so much of Peter back before they decided to run away together.  Next to him, Peter had to put down the knife in his hand and grip the counter, he was laughing so hard.  Chris waited until the laughter had died down before cornering his husband.

  
"What are you laughing at?" Chris asked.  "I don't recall you being unappreciative of this body last night."  Allison pulled a face at that, because what kid wants to hear about their parents' sex life?

  
"And I wasn't." Peter responded.

  
"Damn right, you weren't." Chris reached over and hooked his fingers into the belt loops of his husband's jeans and hauling him closer, tilting his head on instinct and kissing Peter, though this one was much more... ah, thorough than the one he'd received earlier.  Over by the table, Allison made more gagging noises at the sight, while secretly raising her phone and snapping a few pics to put on Instagram later.  Lydia would love them and then proceed to tell Allison how her dads were total DILFs.

  
While there was some dad-on-dad action happening in the kitchen, the doorbell rang.

  
"I'll get it." Allison said, hastily cutting out of the kitchen after snapping one last picture, not even trying to keep it a secret.  Chris pulled away from his husband and rested his forehead against the werewolf's.

  
"We expecting company?" He asked a little breathlessly.

  
"Satomi mentioned there were some visiting wolves from another territory and that they'd be stopping by for dinner." Peter answered, pulling away from Chris and turning back to his task of preparing the meal.

  
"Why here?" Chris asked.

  
"Because I'm her second." He glanced up at his husband with a grin.  "And because Satomi can't cook to save her life."

  
"Dad!" Allison called from the front door, her voice uncertain.  Chris frowned at his husband, who frowned back, before Chris moved toward the hall while Peter dried his hands, quick at his heels.  What Chris saw waiting for him was his daughter standing in the doorway with Satomi, significantly shorter than Allison and several people standing on their stoop.

  
"What's wrong, Allison?" Chris asked, eyes darting from his daughter's own to Satomi's.

  
"These people are here to see pops." Allison answered.

  
"From his old pack." Satomi elaborated.  Chris allowed himself to look out at the others gathered in front of his house and immediately recognized Laura Hale, all grown up and probably with a line of boys (or girls) around the block waiting to talk to her.  Standing next to her was a young man in his late-twenties, tall and broad-shouldered and if he wasn't the perfect mix of Talia's coloring with Andrew's physique, Chris never would have guessed that it was little Derek Hale.  Slightly behind them was another young woman, maybe Allison's age, but again with those striking Hale looks.  He'd heard that Talia had another child after they'd left and now here she was, standing behind her older siblings.  
Behind him, silent as a ghost, Peter stilled, seeing his family for the first time in twenty years.

  
"Hey, Uncle Peter." Derek was the first to speak, seeing his uncle beyond Chris' shoulder.

  
"Hello, Derek." Peter answered, stepping around his husband and standing in the doorway, both Allison and Satomi stepping back to allow this family reunion to happen.  They both stood there for a second, sizing each other up before Peter stepped off the threshold and pulled his nephew into an embrace.  Derek's' own strong arms (and when did his little nephew get so big?) wrapping around him as the two hugged it out.  No man-hug here, no sir.  Eventually the two pulled back and appraised each other once again, Peter's hands on those (impressive) shoulders.  ~~Peter made a note to himself to work on his shoulders more the next time he was at the gym.~~  


  
"You got big." Peter settled on.

  
"You got old." Derek retaliated and Peter couldn't help the laughter that flowed so easily from his mouth, even as his eyes prickled with unshed tears.  He pulled his nephew into another hug and looked at his nieces.  Before he could say anything to them, Allison spoke up.

  
"So he's my cousin?" She asked and when Peter turned to look at her, he saw her giving Derek an appreciative once over.

  
"Yes."

  
"Shame." She answered.

  
Behind him, Laura laughed.  "Oh, she's definitely Peter's kid."

  
"She's our kid." Peter corrected her.  "Mine and Chris'."

  
"You're right." Laura agreed before holding out her arms.  "Now how 'bout a hug for your favorite niece."

  
"Maybe he doesn't want to hug me." The third Hale sibling - Cora - said from behind her big sister, earning a bark of laughter from Peter and scowl from Laura.  Before the famous Hale Family dynamics could kick in, Peter brought his sister's eldest daughter in for a hug, squeezing her tightly.

  
"You look good, Uncle Peter." Laura said softly, his face next to Peter's ear.  The older wolf pulled back to look her in they eyes, his own a little watery.  Her gaze slid past her uncle and onto his husband.  "You, too, Chris."  The retired hunter nodded his head with a smile and a polite thank you while Peter disengaged from his eldest niece and turned to the newest member of his family that he'd never met.

  
"You must be Cora." Peter said.  Since they were complete strangers, Peter simply held out his hand and Cora accepted it with a surprisingly strong grip.  "I look forward to getting to know you."

  
"Same here." Cora responded with a smile.

  
"Hello, Peter." The older werewolf looked away from the young woman before him to see the man with the same broad shoulders as Derek at the bottom of the steps.  Twenty years hadn't done much to Andrew Hale except add some gray to his dark hair and add a few more lines to his face.

  
"Andrew." Peter responded politely, but his gaze was drawn to the woman at her husband's side.  She'd aged less than her husband, but then, that was to be expected from an alpha werewolf.  The two wolves locked eyes for a long moment, the weight of the past twenty years lying between them and making all those around them tense.  "Hello, Talia."

  
"Peter." Talia nodded her head, a small smile on her lips.  Before anyone else could say anything, Peter and Talia were embracing, clutching each other like they were the last solid thing on the planet.  She was sobbing into his shirt while he wrapped his arms as tightly around her tiny waist as he could, never wanting to let go, especially after all this time.

  
"I'm so, so sorry, Peter." Talia cried into her little brother's collar.

  
"Shhh." Peter soothed her.  "Don't be.  After all, it all worked out okay in the end."  The two siblings pulled back from each other, but still held their embrace.  "Now, come on in and meet my family."  He disengaged from his big sister but held her hand in his own, pulling her up the steps and into his house.  "We'll sit down to a nice meal and you can catch me up on all I've missed in Beacon Hills.  Like, did Stilinski and Claudia finally get together?"

  
"Of course." Talia answered, linking her arm with her brother's as they strode into the house, leaving the rest of the family standing there in a stupor.  "They had a son around Cora's age with a name that has to be some form of child abuse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think.
> 
> Also, I've been thinking about this one and I may (MAY) do a series of one-shots detailing their lives for those twenty years. The ups and downs and whatnot.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [ Tumblr ](http://thehollowprince.tumblr.com/)


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